


Three Times

by JoeMerl



Series: March of the Monsters 2021 [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: (mostly at the end), Blood and Violence, Curse Breaking, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, F/M, Fairy Tale Curses, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Style, Fantasy, March of the Monsters 2021, Not Really Character Death, Princes & Princesses, Temporary Character Death, Transformation, Trauma, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:28:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29866377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoeMerl/pseuds/JoeMerl
Summary: The prince will endure hell for three nights in a row.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: March of the Monsters 2021 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2189316
Kudos: 2





	Three Times

**Author's Note:**

> March of the Monsters, Day 8:
> 
>  ~~“The spirit box said what?”~~ Curse. ~~Old farm.~~
> 
> I was inspired by the Brothers Grimm story "The Gold Mountain," though I changed too much to call it an adaptation/retelling.
> 
> Side note, this is the 100th thing that I put up on AO3. *confetti*

“ _It will take three times,_ ” the old woman had said.

* * *

The prince stood in front of the drawbridge, trembling from head to toe.

The castle was abandoned now. The monster had driven out everyone else.

The gates were open. There was nothing to keep him or anyone else out.

He forced his legs to walk. Stepped into the entrance hall. Kept walking, navigating the familiar passages, until he found the creature in the dining room, curled up amidst the broken furniture and smashed dishes.

The monster’s head rose, regarding the intruder. Slowly, the creature rose up onto four legs—two clawed, two hooved—and loomed over the prince. A growl revealed rows of dagger-sharp teeth. 

The prince had left his sword outside. He closed his eyes and spread his arms.

“I’m not leaving,” he said.

The creature attacked. 

Fangs ripped through the prince’s flesh. He tried not to scream and failed. But he didn’t fight back at all. He let the creature have him.

Once he was all but dead, the beast threw him away like a dog tossing away a toy. His mangled body hit the wall, leaving a huge smattering of blood before it fell to the floor.

It should have been over quickly, but the whole thing felt like it took a very long time. 

The next thing the prince knew, he was outside the castle again.

His body ached, but he had no apparent injuries. His clothes weren’t even torn. 

It was morning now. The gates were closed. 

He waited all day, with no idea how to occupy the hours. He ate his rations but barely tasted them. He rode his horse around the castle but took no pleasure in it. He bathed in the moat but could only gaze anxiously at the stone walls. He prayed, sometimes sure that God was listening, sometimes feeling like he was merely talking to the air. 

Over and over he replayed the previous night in his head, flinching; the agony was almost as strong in his mind as it had been in his flesh. He thought about abandoning his mission and smacked his face in penance.

The sun moved through the sky. 

When it reached the horizon, the gates opened by themselves. 

He walked in again, retracing his steps from the night before. 

There was no sign of last night’s struggle in the dining room—no trace of his own blood or viscera. But the beast was waiting for him now. Hackles raised, drool dripping from murderous jaws, eyes fiery and mad with malice—the prince almost sobbed in terror, but forced himself to stand up straight.

“I’m not leaving,” he said, sounding like he wanted to cry.

The beast used the claws this time. The prince was ripped open once again. He felt his entrails being pulled from his body, felt them rip like ribbons in the beast’s paws. His face was eaten off in huge, agonizing bites. He didn’t try to resist screaming, but he would not do anything else.

Eventually he couldn’t even scream anymore, couldn’t even breathe. He suffocated to death, everything around him slowly growing dark.

He woke up in front of the castle again. His horse was nuzzling his face.

He ate the last of his rations. He rode his horse. He prayed. He bathed, wondered vaguely at how he kept regenerating the grime from his journey here but not the blood from his nightly deaths. 

The castle gates opened.

One last time.

He had done this twice. He could do one more.

“ _I’m not leaving!_ ” he screamed, forcing out courage that he didn't feel.

This was the worst of them all. He was ripped, clawed, bitten, torn, gorged with horns in his stomach and chest and head and thighs. The beast’s jaws slammed him against the ground, cracking open his head, letting his brains spill out. A hoof stomped on his face and destroyed one eye, which leaked blood and mucus all over his face. He choked on his teeth and vomited blood.

He should have died by now. What if he didn’t? What if this was some new aspect of the curse, to be mangled and killed forever and never allowed to die?

After what felt like hours the beast stopped. The prince was left alone on the floor. It took another horrible eon before black peace overtook him.

He opened his eyes slowly. He wasn’t in front of the castle this time. He was still in the dining room.

The beast was gone. But there, in the clearing of debris where the monster had slept, was a naked woman, lying with her back to him.

His beloved. 

The prince jumped to his feet as quickly as his aching body would allow. He approached her slowly, almost afraid to look.

She was alive, trembling and gasping for air. 

The prince felt tears come into his eyes. He stripped off his cloak and quickly draped it over her shaking body. Then he carefully lifted her into his arms, holding her close to hear her breathing.

After a few seconds, the princess spoke.

“You...broke the curse.”

He nodded, his throat too clogged to speak. Finally he said, "Yes."

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” he lied. “Nothing hurt as much as losing you, my love.”

He carried her out of the castle. 

He would never let her apologize. But in later years, when he sometimes moaned in his sleep or woke up crying from his nightmares, his wife would wrap her arms around him and whisper thank-yous in his ears. Her gentle hands and soft kisses would assuage memories of fangs and claws, and he would close his eyes and drift back to sleep.


End file.
